MISS MINI HOLMES BBC'S SHERLOCK
by pastelpixie
Summary: a girl off the streets finds a home. ( somewhat of a sherlock's daughter story ) this version of sherlock belongs to bbc.
1. Chapter I

It was pouring rain in London. Isabelle was soaked right down to her socks. Her dirty blonde hair clung to the sides of her face as she maneuvered her way through the alley, watching puddles forming and being careful not to step in them. A hiss escaped her as a piece of metal - _old TV antennae_ , she saw immediately, _looks to be in working condition, though worn against the weather, the owner most likely just got a new one and was careless, throwing this one away_ \- scraped against her side. Her green sweater ripped, exposing her skin to the cold even more 

She was scrawny, small and thin for a girl of her age. Her sweater and dark blue pants were too big for her, she had to tie a rope around her waist to keep everything up. With the newly ripped hole, she grew colder by the minute but she didn't panic. 

Better than a dull children's home.

She came upon a street, relief filling her chest. She had to find a cafe. A restaurant. A cook, or waitress, would take pity on her. It was usually the mothers who were the most sympathetic, but just about anyone would do, especially in these conditions. A poor little orphan, homeless and out in the bleeding rain. That had to be good enough to get shelter, food, and possibly hot chocolate if she faked a sneeze until the weather cleared. It wasn't the nicest thing to do but then again Isabelle was fully aware she wasn't the nicest person. 

Hearing footsteps approach her from the left, the gears in her head kicked into gear. _Who would be out in this type of weather? Certainly not anyone out for a simple stroll, even people who liked rain would consider this too much for comfort. Someone out to get something would make more sense, but it would have to be something needed. Groceries?_ If that was the case, it was more likely a woman than a man, considering how society forced itself to work, but she didn't enjoy jumping to conclusions.

"My goodness! Sweetheart, what are you doing out in this rain?" Looking to her left as she came fully out from the alleyway, she saw an older looking woman with blonde hair. She was dressed in appropriate clothing for the rain, a black - no not black, just a really dark purple - umbrella in her right hand and two grocery bags in her left. 

She hadn't expected to be right about everything. 

The woman had jewelry on, it looked to be gold but it might've been fake. Hard to tell from the rain and the distance. Under the coat she wore was a black button-up shirt with a white lace collar with white polka-dots. She also wore a very light purple skirt. It looked nice on her. 

"Shouldn't you be with your parents?" The woman asked, taking a step closer. Isabelle was unsure what her eye color or exact age was, as the rain was very persistent about getting in her eyes and blurring her vision.

"I have none, ma'am." She had spoken this line so many times it came out of her mouth in a monotone voice. "I'm an orphan, my parents died in a fire some years ago."

The woman looked shocked, to no surprise, and instantly came closer. Catching sight of her ripped pants and sweater, she looked even more distressed. Isabelle could never understand empathy.

"Oh, you poor dear.. Have- have you become separated from the children's home? Do you need me to take you back to it?"

The girl shook her head, keeping her green eyes locked on the woman's eyes. "No, ma'am. I don't belong to a children's home. I live on the streets." Once again, this came out monotone. It was simply a fact of her life now, it really didn't matter all that much.

The elder female had a large mix of emotions of her face - concern, worry, almost fear. Slowly, adjusting the bag in her arm, she went beside her and took a hold of Isabelle's arm. The young female almost flinched at the sudden contact, unused to it after so long. Still, as much as the touch was not welcomed, it was gentle, more like an optional guide than a forceful one.

"What's your name, dear? I'm Mrs. Hudson."

"Isabelle Rogers, ma'am."

"Well.." Mrs. Hudson looked hesitant before she spoke, choosing her words carefully in her mind. "How would you like to come and live with me for now?"

For now. Indicating she'd have to leave sooner or later. _A husband who doesn't like kids?_ Her green eyes flitted to the woman's left hand. _No ring, but the skin is paler on her ring finger near the base. She had a husband, but something happened. She kept the name, she could be a widow. He died? But that couldn't be the only thing, she'd keep the ring on if that were the case. Maybe he did something to her or was in something he shouldn't have been in, so she has no sentiment for him._

Her eyes traveled to the grocery bags next. _Too much food for one woman alone to eat, even with the possibility she's stocking up. She has to live with someone... Kids? She clearly has a kind demeanor, but she doesn't look like she has children and, even if she does, they'd be grown by now and out of the house or cooking for themselves. Flatmate is the next obvious choice, but why would she do that? She looks to be a woman who has enough money to afford her own place._ Isabelle decided to just take a guess on it.

"Are you a landlady or maid?" 

Mrs. Hudson tilted her head at the question, but answered. "Why, yes, I'm a landlady. How did you know that?" 

"You're carrying too much food for only yourself, if you had kids - which I'm assuming you don't, but if you do - they would be old enough to feed themselves or they'd be out of the house. And you have no husband- Well, you don't anymore, he died a while ago, but the paleness from the ring is still there. Did he do something bad? I'm guessing so, considering you no longer wear the ring so it must not be sentimental."

The two looked at each other for a long time, or what seemed like a long time, before the elder said something the younger was almost surprised at. 

"I think my tenants are going to like you very much."


	2. Chapter II

Isabelle sat in the hallway, watching Mrs. Hudson move things back and forth in the hallway with a blank expression. She sat on a light blue towel on the floor, a similar looking one wrapped around her shoulders and a green one wrapping her hair up. She really was soaking. They had arrived half an hour ago to 221B Bakerstreet. There were two levels, the upstairs for the landlady's tenants and the downstairs for her and now for Isabelle.

Two men lived upstairs, she could figure out that much. There was nothing girl-like about the upstairs from what she had caught a glimpse of when Mrs. Hudson was hurriedly putting away the groceries. One of them liked the violin, which she saw in the corner of the room, next to a red chair. But that was all she knew, since the landlady had taken her downstairs straight after. Well, apparently, one of them or perhaps both didn't like other people in their flat.

In between taking things into and out of the room, Mrs. Hudson asked her questions about herself. Things like if she'd have all her shots, how long she had lived out on the streets, which children's home she decided to leave. Normal things any concerned woman would ask a homeless orphan. Isabelle answered every question honestly, considering there was really nothing dangerous about this woman and so there was nothing to hide. She was up to date with all her shots, she had been on the streets for almost two months, and she had left Cassidy's Home for Children since that was the most dull and most idiotic of them all.

"And who were your parents?"

Isabelle was silent. Who were her parents? She had long forgotten. A few months time would mark four years without them. She had hidden her parents away in her mind, forgetting their names, their faces, everything. She looked down, confused, as she attempted to search the very back of her mind, to try to remember.

Just as the woman was about to say nevermind, she answered.

"My mother was named Eliza.. and my father was named Ben." That was all she could get out. She tried to search for more, but she had piled too many memories on top of it all. She couldn't remember. "That's.. that's all I can remember for right now. Sorry."

Mrs. Hudson smiled kindly. "It's perfectly alright, dear. You just sit there and try to dry off, okay?"

The girl nodded in reply.

She stared hard at the carpeted floor until the nonsense pattern warped into images in her head. A face. A flower. A footprint. The images blurred together, giving her a headache. She looked up at the wall across from her in annoyance. She never could keep staring at the carpet like she wanted to. It made her feel better, made her feel disconnected.

"Isabelle? Are you okay?"

She looked up to see clothes held out in front of her. She nodded, taking them and allowed Mrs. Hudson to direct her to the bathroom where she would change. As the door closed behind her with a click she released a breath she didn't even know she was holding. Slowly, she undressed, first taking the sweater off. Looking in the mirror, she was almost surprised to see the amount of scratches all over her sides, from scraping up against things in the alleyway. She flinched as she touched them. This would be hard to hide. She decided to tell Mrs. Hudson tomorrow.

Next were the shoes and pants. She shivered, the cold of the bathroom reaching every part of her skin. The floor felt almost freezing under her wet and blistered feet. Bruises covered her knees and legs from tripping over objects she hadn't noticed on the streets. Another thing for tomorrow.

Carefully, she slipped into the dark blue, short sleeved shirt. It almost hung to her knees, being much too big for her. The pants were the same, slipping past her feet to brush against the floor. Unsure how to fix it, considering her mother never taught her how to sew or fix clothes, she rolled them up until the ends met her ankles. The socks were baby blue and fluffy. They felt nice on her feet.

She sat on her knees on the bathroom floor, folding her old clothes and putting them in a pile. She did everything slowly, giving the landlady all the time in the world to get the room ready. She stood, ignoring the soreness of her sides, and held the clothes against her chest. Her feet almost slid as she walked to the door, ready to open it and call out that she had finished dressing, but she paused.

The front door was opening.

Isabelle pressed her ear against the crack of the door, shifting her weight carefully so she wouldn't slip. Two pairs of footsteps entered, one was either heavier or taller. One of the pairs, the not so heavy one, began going towards the stairs, but the others stayed put. The pair stopped at the bottom step.

"Sherlock?" A voice asked. The man on the steps. "What is it?" The other, Sherlock, didn't respond. The only noises now were the busy footsteps and shufflings of Mrs. Hudson. Finally, he spoke again. "Mrs. Hudson, what are you doing?"

"Just- cleaning, John, it's fine." She was lying. Why was she lying? She didn't sound nervous. Maybe they just didn't like her moving stuff around in the rooms, even if it wasn't their flat? The young girl wasn't sure.

"No, you're not. Who did you bring home?" This voice was much deeper than John's. Sherlock's voice, apparently.

"No one, dear, you're just overexcited from your case, go upstairs." After a split second, she added, "I got groceries."

"Why is the bathroom door shut?" Sherlock persisted and right after Isabelle heard his footsteps approaching. Her mind raced for what to do, but she realized sickeningly that she could do nothing.

Swiftly, in one motion, the door opened and, before she could move, Isabelle tripped and fell onto the floor. The folded clothes provided a small comfy shield, but she let out a yelp as her right knee banged against the tiled floor. She got up, carefully sitting back on her knees and looking up at the two men.

She recognized them instantly. She had seen them in the newspapers that people threw in the alleys. She had read them with great interest. How did she not realize where she was before?

Isabelle was facing Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.


	3. Chapter III

Unsure what else to do, Isabelle slowly rose to her feet, hugging the folded clothes tight against her chest. She had encountered several adults in her lifetime, like anyone her age, but.. this was _Sherlock Holmes._ The man that gave her the idea of deduction, from the stories in the newspapers. She held his gaze for what seemed like a long time, only breaking from it when he spoke.

He turned back to Ms. Hudson, eyes somewhat narrowed. Confused, maybe a little annoyed. "What's this?" He gestured absentmindedly to the blonde with his right hand. _This_. As in not a person. How nice.

"Sherlock!" John said, in a warning tone. Isabelle's eyes darted to him. He seemed nicer.

"Not a _this_ , a _she._ " Ms. Hudson sounded exasperated, walking past him and over to the child. She placed a hand on her shoulder. "And her name is Isabelle Rogers. Isabelle, this is-"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I know." She was suddenly aware of how dead inside she sounded. Reluctantly, she looked down at the floor. _Well vacuumed. must clean a lot._ She wasn't a shy person, but she certainly wasn't a trusting one either. "I've seen the both of you in the papers."

"She's an.." There was the smallest of hesitations, "..orphan. And I saw her on the streets all by herself while I was out getting groceries. Until I can find a suitable home for her, she's going to stay her in my flat." Not a suggestion. Not even a question. A statement. It was clear who was _really_ in charge in this building, that was for sure.

Sherlock again stared at the little girl, as if wondering why Ms. Hudson had bothered in the first place. Despite herself, Isabelle felt a slow flush of embarrassment rise up her neck and then to her face. She didn't particularly like being stared at. She much preferred being invisible. She shifted from foot to foot, hating how she wasn't speaking but not liking the idea of talking either.

The man suddenly turned and finally she looked up. He was making his way up the staircase, forcing John to move aside. _He walks with a bit of smug confidence. But it seems like he doesn't even realize he's doing it._ At the top step, he paused, like he was thinking.

"She'll need better fitting clothes. Store down the street. John gives her a check up tomorrow." He said curtly, then walked into his flat. _He didn't shut the door, mostly likely waiting for his flatmate to join him._

"Nice to meet you, Isabelle." The doctor said with a small smile and a nod. "Sorry about him, but that's really the nicest I think he'll get." Then he walked the rest of the way upstairs, giving her one last small wave. The door shut quietly behind him. The papers were right about one thing: he really was the nicer one of the pair.

Ms. Hudson gently rubbed her shoulders and the girl looked up at her. "Don't you worry, dear. I'm sure Sherlock will warm up to you. He's actually a sweetheart, just a little- well, people tend to call him odd. His heart's in the right place." The landlady led her to what would be her room. _Temporary room, Isabelle. Not permanent. This is just pity, don't get attached._

"I don't know what exactly you like, and I don't have kids myself- But I hope it's alright.."

The room was small, but that was to be expected. It had a wooden flooring, and pale blue walls. A bed was against the far right corner of the room, buttercream yellow sheets and crisp white pillows. A small white beside table was beside it, a lamp on top with a lampshade covered in pink polka-dots. On the other side of the room was a white desk, with a small chair to sit in, along with a cup of pencils and a few notebooks on top. A bookshelf was across from the bed and on the floor in front of it was a blue carpet. Star-shaped lights covered the tops of the walls all the way around the room. She briefly remembered the name _fairy lights._

Like any sensible person, she went to the bookshelf first. She was surprised to see how full it was. She sat down on the carpet, and ran her fingers along the spines of the books. She knew a good many of the names - _Harry Potter, The Wind in the Willows, A Wrinkle in Time, A Series of Unfortunate Events_ \- and she had read quite a few of them too.

"And they're all mine..?" She asked, her voice quiet. Something gave her heart a tug and she had to remind herself again. _Do not get attached, Isabelle. They'll tire of having you around. They'll find someplace else for you. Stop it._

"Of course they are!" The lady seemed pleased. "Now, you just enjoy yourself, alright? How about a nice cup of tea? Rainy days always get me in the mood for one."

Not talking, she nodded in response. The lights in the room were clicked off, and the fairy lights gave the room a purple tint. It looked nice. As Ms. Hudson's footsteps faded down the hallway, she plucked _A Wrinkle in Time_ from the shelf. Sitting down on the bed, she noticed a teddy bear propped up against one of the pillows. She couldn't suppress a smile. She was too old for these things anymore but..

She set the bear in her lap and leaned back against the pillows. She opened the book and held it out in front of the stuffed animal, so they both could read.

Isabelle wasn't sure when exactly she had fallen asleep. But she knew she fell asleep in a warm bed with a good book. And that was better than nothing at all.


End file.
